The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

  “And now Lord Andreas is the lord of the city?”

  Vasaro nodded. “Since his father died some thirteen years ago. Lion continued as condottiere and maintained his father’s armies until he decided to disband them two years ago and return to Mandara.” Vasaro gazed at her inquiringly. “Well, have you gouged enough from me to abate your fears?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I suppose you wouldn’t reconsider and tell me why Lord Andreas bought me?”

  Vasaro didn’t answer.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have wasted—” he broke off and stopped short. “Santa Maria, what is that?”

  They were crossing the Mercato Nuovo where bankers with ledgers and fat purses sat at their green-covered tables. However, it was not the bankers at whom Vasaro was staring but a plump man surrounded by a crowd of snickering onlookers. “Am I mistaken or is that obese personage peeling down his hose?”

  “Oh, that’s only a bankrupt,” Sanchia said indifferently. “In order to be discharged he has to strike his naked buttocks three times on that black-and-white marble circle that marks the site of the symbolic Chariot of Florence.”

  “How undignified.” Vasaro’s lips suddenly began to twitch with amusement as he resumed walking across the mercato. “Lion was worried that you might beggar him. I must warn him if he does becomes bankrupt, it most certainly must not happen in this illustrious city.”

  “I did not ask for so much. It was necessary to—”

  “Peace.” Lorenzo held up his hand. “I’m not interested in your protests and explanations. Let me have a little blessed silence for a time.”

  They walked in silence for a short while until Lorenzo finally said, “Giulia’s house is around the next corner.” He cast a glance at her. “I wonder if she’ll let you through her front door. I found Madonna Giulia very particular about all the appointments of her establishment.”

  She frowned. “I won’t steal anything.”

  “Your larcenous nature wasn’t what I was referring to.” He wrinkled his nose. “You have a great and profound need for a bath.”

  “I’m clean. I bathed only this morning. It’s the—” She stopped as they turned the corner, her eyes widening in pleasure as she caught sight of the impressive two-story house. “What a truly splendid casa. It looks as grand as a palazzo. You wouldn’t think a whore could do this well for herself, would you? It seems strange that men would be foolish enough to pay so much to fornicate with a woman when the pleasure lasts for such a short time.”

  His lips twitched. “It doesn’t seem strange to me. But then I, too, am one of those foolish men.”

  She turned and looked at him speculatively. His manner was so icy, so remote it was difficult for her to imagine him rutting with one of the strumpets in this splendid house. “Do you really fornic—”

  “I think you’ve asked quite enough questions for the moment,” he interrupted as he took her elbow and nudged her toward the elaborately carved door of the front entrance. He didn’t look at Sanchia as he opened the door and murmured, “And yes, on occasion, I most certainly do.”

  “If you want your little slave girl to be permitted to spend the night here, I think you’d better come along and intercede with Giulia.” Lorenzo stood leaning on the jamb of the doorway of Lion’s chamber. He covered a delicate yawn with his long, slender hand. “I settled Sanchia’s flock in their new nests but I refuse to involve myself between two quarreling women.”

  “Where is she?” Lion stood up and moved quickly toward the door. The glimmer of malicious mischief underlying Lorenzo’s pretense of boredom always boded trouble. Cristo, what was wrong now? Nothing had gone as he had planned since he had caught sight of Sanchia on the piazza this afternoon.

  “In Giulia’s chamber.” Lorenzo followed him down the hall. “We’d no sooner crossed the threshold than Giulia appeared in the hall and took offense at your little Sanchia’s …” He paused before continuing euphemistically, “unusual fragrance. She insisted on calling her servants and dragging the child up to her chamber for a bath.”

  “Which Sanchia clearly needs.”

  “But which Sanchia clearly doesn’t want. When I last saw her she was being forcibly restrained by two of Giulia’s maidservants while Giulia herself was undressing her.” Lorenzo opened the door of Giulia’s chamber. “Ah, I see they have her in the tub. What wonderful progress.”

  “Why won’t you listen to me, you stupid woman? I don’t need a bath.” It was Sanchia’s voice, the tone almost as fierce as when she had spoken to Giovanni.

  Lion strode into the chamber and then stopped short. “My God, what’s happened here?”

  Clothing was tossed all over the chamber as if blown by a gale wind, Giulia Marzo’s golden hair was hanging loose about her shoulders, the rope of pearls usually binding it had broken and pearls were scattered over the floor. The bodice of her sea blue gown bore a three-cornered rip and torrents of water were splashed on the floor, on Giulia, and on the two servants holding the struggling Sanchia in the hip bath while Giulia attempted to scrub her.

  Sanchia’s gaze flew to Lion and she suddenly stopped fighting. “They wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to tell them that it wouldn’t do any good.”

  “She stinks,” Giulia said between her teeth. “Lorenzo tells me this she-devil belongs to you, but I won’t have her in my house until I’ve purged her of this vile odor.” Giulia dipped a cloth into the water and then scrubbed vigorously at Sanchia’s neck.

  “You’re hurting me.” Sanchia’s amber eyes blazed up at Giulia. “And it will do no good. I’m clean!”

  She certainly appeared clean, Lion noticed bemusedly. The golden skin on Sanchia’s shoulders gleamed above the cloudy water, and she wasn’t nearly as thin as he had believed when she had worn that loose gown.

  “Tell her to listen to—” Sanchia broke off as she met Lion’s gaze. Her eyes widened, and she stared at him as if mesmerized while a delicate pink tinted the gold of her cheeks. Then she swallowed and drew a shaky breath. “Please, my lord, tell her to stop.”

  Lion gazed at her without speaking.

  “Please, my lord.” Sanchia’s amber eyes were enormous in her triangular face.

  “I do like a woman who says please.”

  There was an intensity in his soft voice that caused Giulia to look at him sharply over her shoulder. “Lion, don’t interfere. This is necessary.”

  “Her body looks clean enough to me.” He dropped down on the cushioned chair a few yards away from the tub and stretched his legs out before him. His intent gaze returned to Sanchia’s pink-tipped breasts which could be glimpsed just below the surface of the water. The god Eros couldn’t have created nipples more arousingly pointed and amazingly sensual. “There’s no use scraping and reddening that exquisite skin if there’s no need, Giulia.”

  “But the stench is—”

  “It’s my hair,” Sanchia broke in with exasperation. “If you’d listened to me, I would have told you. Every morning after my bath I rub a mixture into it. It’s my hair that stinks and needs cleansing.”

  Giulia sat back on her heels and gazed blankly at Sanchia. “You rub something this foul-smelling into your hair?”

  Sanchia nodded. “Since I was twelve. Garlic, fish oil, and—”

  Giulia quickly held up her hand. “Don’t go on. I don’t want to know.”

  “I do,” Lorenzo said from the doorway. “Fascinating.”

  Lion’s gaze narrowed on her face. “I’m not as interested in the mixture itself as in her reason for concocting it.”

  “Giovanni has a very keen sense of smell,” Sanchia said simply. “When my mother was alive, every morning he would make her bathe and perfume herself. Then he’d have her kneel naked on the floor of the shop and take her as a dog takes a bitch in the street. After my mother died I knew that soon I’d be old enough for Giovanni to try to use me in the same way.”

  Lorenzo chuckled. “You chose an exceptional
ly powerful deterrent.”

  Lion didn’t feel the same amusement. He found he was experiencing a multitude of wild emotions that took him completely off guard. Anger and pity battled with an odd sense of guilt at the mental image that persisted in coming before his eyes. The image of Sanchia kneeling naked on the floor, looking back over her shoulder with those huge amber eyes, her pink tongue moistening her lips with nervousness.

  Lust seared him, twisting through his groin in a scalding tide as he realized that the man in his imagination, the man at whom she was gazing, the man she was ready to receive into her body, was not Giovanni Ballano.

  It was himself.

  He abruptly rose to his feet. “Wash her hair,” he muttered as he turned away. “And then bring her to my chamber.”

  Lorenzo followed Lion from Giulia’s room, down the hall, and into Lion’s chamber. He strolled to the table across the room and poured a stream of red wine from a silver pitcher into two goblets. “Have a little wine.” He turned to hand one of the goblets to Lion, his gaze flicking mockingly to Lion’s lower body. “I think you need cooling.”

  “Is that why you took me to ‘intercede’?” Lion sat down in the large chair by the window. “What game are you playing at now, Lorenzo?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Lorenzo gazed at him with limpid innocence. “Your little street urchin seemed very concerned about learning what and who you are, and I thought it would be a kindness to throw you both into a situation where revelations would naturally occur.” He smiled. “Which they did. I had no idea Sanchia would be so alluring. She has truly exquisite breasts.”

  “Yes.” Lion’s hand tightened on the stem of his goblet as the memory of Sanchia clad only in wisps of steam and cloudy water returned to him. “But I didn’t buy her to occupy my bed.”

  “I know. Which makes the possibilities all the more intriguing.” Lorenzo dropped onto the embroidered cushions of the chair by the table and raised his goblet to his lips. “I look forward with great anticipation to watching developments between the two of you.”

  “You mean you look forward to watching us writhe on the stake you’re trying to skewer us with,” Lion said dryly. “I doubt if we’ll furnish you with as much pleasure as you hope. I don’t know why you foresee my bedding Sanchia to be in any way unusual when I’ve had more women than I can count in these last years.”

  “Ah, but there’s one difference. You own Sanchia. She belongs to you.” Lorenzo’s gaze narrowed with satisfaction on Lion’s face. “And no one in this world is more possessive than you, Lion. You can’t bear to let anything you own be taken away from you. Look how you’re moving heaven and earth to get the Wind Dancer back, and it’s only a statue.”

  Lion’s fingers tightened on the stem of the goblet. “It’s more than a statue.”

  “To your family perhaps.” Lorenzo shrugged. “To you it’s some kind of holy relic you guard and protect. To me it seems more like a beautiful siren luring men to destruction.”

  “Sanchia isn’t the Wind Dancer.”

  “No, but as your property she’s bound to arouse the same instincts.” Lorenzo sipped his wine, smiling at Lion over the rim of the goblet. “What do you think will happen when you take her to Mandara?”

  “I’m not taking her to Mandara.”

  Lorenzo lifted a brow. “She said you told her you were taking her there.”

  “That was before I …” Lion trailed off, his dark brows knotting in a fierce frown as he took a long swallow of wine.

  “Before you decided to take her to your bed?”

  Lion met his gaze. “Yes.” The intention that had been forming since the moment he had seen Sanchia in the hip bath was suddenly made. “Why not? As you say, she belongs to me.”

  “There’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t take her.” Lorenzo looked down into the ruby depths of his wine. “I thoroughly approve.”

  “Which should immediately make me wary. Why do you want Sanchia to become my mistress?”

  “I admire her.”

  Lion gazed at him in astonishment. He couldn’t remember the last time Lorenzo had indicated he felt anything positive for a stranger. True, admiration wasn’t liking, but the confession was still out of the ordinary.

  Lorenzo noticed his surprise. “No, it’s true. She reminds me of myself when I was growing up in the streets of Naples. She fights with every weapon she has to survive and invents new ones when the old ones don’t win the day.” He shrugged. “It’s a pity she has such a soft heart. It’s a weakness that will probably destroy her.”

  “And because you admire her, you want to put her in my bed.”

  “It will give her a weapon. She has none against you now. The child has the ridiculous belief that promises must be kept. You’d think she would have learned better leading the life she has.”

  “She has no need for weapons,” Lion said impatiently. “I have no intention of being cruel to her.”

  “Oh yes, she’ll need weapons.” Lorenzo’s index finger circled the rim of his goblet. “When you take her to Mandara.”

  Lion stiffened. “I don’t take my mistresses to Mandara.”

  “You’ll take Sanchia. Because she belongs to you.”

  “No, per Dio, you know I never—”

  “You will this time.” Lorenzo cut in, lifting his gaze from the goblet. “I look forward to seeing what will result.”

  “Because you enjoy watching all our lives thrown into a turmoil for you to savor.”

  For the first time the mockery faded from Lorenzo’s face. “No, because that foolishness at Mandara has gone on too long. It’s time someone changed the course of events.”

  “Stay out of it, Lorenzo. It’s my choice.”

  The mockery instantly returned to Lorenzo’s face. “I don’t think I could bear to do that. Our last stay at Mandara offered me no amusement whatsoever. All that sweetness and knightly restraint … It made me quite ill.”

  “How regrettable. I fear you must resign yourself to it. I take no bedmates to Mandara.”

  “We shall see.” Lorenzo drained the last of his wine, set the goblet on the table and stood up. “Now I bid you good night. Do tell me in the morning how you enjoyed your little Sanchia.” He moved toward the door. “Do you suppose she’s a virgin? The possibility never occurred to me until she told us of her ingenious perfume.” His gray eyes gleamed silver in the candlelight as he glanced back over his shoulder. “How splendid for you if she is. Think how tight she’ll be around you and how sweet to hear the little cries of wonder and newfound delight.” He added softly as he opened the door, “And that would make her all the more yours, wouldn’t it?” He started to close the door and then paused. “Ah, Sanchia, how charming you look …” He sniffed experimentally. “And smell. Go right in, Lion’s expecting you.” He threw open the door and stepped aside. “Buona sera, ladies.”

  Sanchia and Giulia entered the room, stopped just inside the door. With a jerky motion of her head Giulia indicated Sanchia. “Well, does she please you?”

  Lion’s gaze traveled slowly over Sanchia’s small form. It was clear to Lion that Giulia was not pleased with the intruder and less with Lion’s response to her and had probably given her the most humble garment in all the wardrobes in this house. The simple velvet gown Sanchia wore was of a rich brown shade, but had no elaborate trim or embroidery. The tight sleeves came to her wrists, and the line of the gown was straight and graceful falling from the low square neckline of the bodice. Yet the darkness of the gown made the olive of Sanchia’s skin glow golden, and the low square neckline revealed the lovely line of her throat and the swell of her small breasts against the velvet of the bodice.

  Lion’s gaze lingered on the bare golden flesh of her upper breasts and felt a stirring in his loins so intense it approached pain. “Yes, she pleases me.”

  “It took three scrubbings to get that stench out of her hair.” Giulia’s lips tightened as she noticed Lion’s gaze was still on Sanchia. “I suppos
e you’ll not want me tonight?”

  “No.”

  Giulia whirled, her blue velvet skirt flying. “You’re mad. If you wish a change, I can supply you with ten women who are more beautiful than this … this … child!”

  The door slammed behind her.

  “I don’t like her,” Sanchia said flatly.

  “Then I’m sure it won’t bother you to know that she has the same feelings toward you.” Lion’s gaze lifted from the delicate line of Sanchia’s throat. “Your hair is still damp.”

  “I don’t know why it should be. She and those two women nearly smothered me toweling it dry.”

  The color of her hair was not the brownish red he had first thought, Lion realized. The mixture she had put on it must have dulled its color along with its luster. Now, though it was still water-darkened, the candlelight revealed the fiery shimmer of auburn. “Come here and let me look at you.”

  She hesitated and then walked slowly toward him. She moved with grace, her shoulders back, her spine straight. There was a militance about her stance reminiscent of a soldier marching into battle, he thought suddenly.

  She stopped before him. “She’s right, you know.” Her voice was breathless. “I’m not comely. I’m too skinny, and I don’t have that lovely pale skin that Elizabet and Giulia Marzo have. You won’t be pleased with me.”

  Lion leaned back in his chair. “You’re wrong. As I told Giulia, I’m very pleased with you.” His gaze went again to the smooth flesh of her shoulders. “And I like the shade of your skin. It reminds me of the gold of—” He stopped. He had been going to compare her to the Wind Dancer, he realized with a sense of shock. It must have been Lorenzo’s remark that had brought the connection to mind. Possession. The Wind Dancer. Sanchia.

  He lifted his goblet to his lips. “You know why you’re here?”

  “Yes.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I knew when I saw you looking at me when I was in the bath. It’s the same way Giovanni looked at my mother. You want to use my body.”

  The comparison irritated him. “I’m not Ballano,” Lion said harshly.